


I Would Risk Everything

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Touching Souls [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Four years after their first meeting, Rodney and John are competing at their second Olympics, and gold goes out the window when personal affairs rattle their careers. Luckily, they know a lot of hockey players, and they have good friends.





	I Would Risk Everything

_I’m pregnant._

Rodney had been standing in the kiss-and-cry area with Jeannie, waiting for their scores for their final skate, and she’d said those two words, too soft for anyone else to hear.

He’d turned to her, mind reeling.

_You’re what?_

But then Coach Weir was sweeping both of them into her arms and the audience was going wild and Rodney realized, belatedly, that they’d won.

Gold. Again. Second Olympics in a row. He and Jeannie were officially the best in the world.

And they were over.

Jeannie had been dating Kaleb Miller, champion hockey player, for four years, and Rodney knew they were serious, they spent every spare moment outside of practice together, were on their phones with each other day in and day out, but - pregnant?

Jeannie had been training hard and skating hard and they’d done some insane lifts and throws and jumps - and she’d known she was pregnant?

Rodney barely managed to get through the anthem when he and Jeannie were on the podium, didn’t have a chance to lord it over Sam’n’Cam like he’d always wanted to, where they stood for silver. Rodney was confused. Numb.

After the anthem and the photos posing with the medals, Jeannie towed Rodney back toward the locker rooms.

“Mer, are you all right? You haven’t said anything.”

He stared at her, incredulous. “All right? Am I _all right?_ Jeannie, you just told me that you’re abandoning me, that we’re _over.”_

“We just won gold,” Jeannie protested, “at our _second_ Olympics, and also, I’m becoming a mother, not _dying._ The mere fact of having a child will not undo a lifetime of training on the ice.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Taking however long off it takes to grow a human is basically a lifetime in this sport.”

“I’m not growing a human, I’m starting a family. Kaleb and I are getting married, and we’re having a child. And if you can’t be supportive of that, then we’re through anyway.” Jeannie spun on her heel and stomped away.

Rodney watched her go, numb.

He was numb all through the rest of that day, retreated to his room in the Olympic village - the one he was supposed to share with Jeannie but that she was never in because she was with Kaleb - and changed into comfortable clothes, sat on his bed, stared at the gold medal hanging from the doorknob.

The last he’d ever get, because his partner was gone.

Rodney huddled on the bed, unmoving, uncaring of the way his stomach growled, uncaring of the passage of time, as the room grew darker and darker. Eventually he curled up and fell asleep on top of the bed, still in his clothes, waiting for Jeannie to come back, to tell him it was all a mistake or a joke, but she never did.

Rodney was still numb the next morning when he woke, stiff and sore and shivering. He forced himself to shower, dress. When he checked his phone, he’d missed text messages from John: congratulations on his win, inquiries about his celebration plans, an _I miss you._ He’d missed text messages from Coach Weir: inquiries after his wellbeing and apologies because it wasn’t her place to tell him Jeannie’s personal business.

Rodney stared at her messages, betrayed, and wanted to throw his phone. But then a calendar reminder popped up, and he remembered. John was competing today.

So Rodney bundled up and hurried downstairs and caught the shuttle to the ice rink. He had to show his athlete pass a dozen times to get back to where he wanted so he could watch John’s performance rink-side. He received several looks askance at first as he crowded into the athlete seating section, mostly because it was crowded with Americans and he was Canadian, but then Ronon spotted him and waved him over, made room for him.

It was a sort of open secret, among all the ice skaters, that Rodney and John were together. Rodney had been surprised but pleased that Ronon was supportive of them, and given that he was a giant and the captain, the rest of the hockey team had fallen in line with being supportive as well.

Ronon thumped Rodney on the back, grinned, greeted him briefly, but Rodney couldn’t hear him over the din of the crowd and the music.

All that mattered to him was John.

John, who was as always the man in black, sleek and masculine when he finally stepped out on the ice. He’d been pretty cagey about what his routine was for this year.

He did his obligatory lap to warm up his legs, stir the crowd, and then he assumed his starting pose.

The sweeping violin strains were familiar, but Rodney didn’t quite place them, fixed on the lines of John’s body as he glided into motion.

A woman’s soprano festooned the air, and Rodney remembered: the song he and John had skated to the first night they spent together, when they kissed.

John sailed across the ice, all smooth curves and perfect edges, effortless transitions. Rodney’s heart climbed into his throat when he saw John pick up speed with swift cross steps, and when the singer hit that high note, John was in the air.

Flawless quad toe loop, stuck the landing, right into a triple one.

The Americans around Rodney went wild.

Rodney was focused on John. He had a reputation as a pretty chill, laconic guy who had a quirky sense of humor and the occasional bite of sarcasm, but on the ice he was full of animation and emotion.

Rodney had thought of his and John’s dark waltz on the ice a thousand times. The world didn’t know it, but the way John was dancing across the ice, yearning for a partner for his waltz, was a message just for Rodney. The final sequence of spins to the trilling of the mandolin was breathtaking. It was there and gone in a flash, John forming a heart with his arms as he spun dizzyingly.

He struck his final pose, and the crowd went wild.

Flowers rained down on the ice, and John took his bows to the judges, to his teammates, to the crowd, and then he was headed for the wall where his coach, the famed Jack O’Neill, was waiting to congratulate him.

Rodney ducked out of the stands and headed for the kiss-and-cry area. People on TV complained about how long it took between skaters, because the judges had to enter their scores and the ice had to be cleared of flowers and other debris from adoring fans. For skaters, that wait felt like an eternity.

People foolishly subscribed to the athlete-intellectual dichotomy, that athletes were stupid and intellectuals were physically weak, but every competitive athlete was damn good at at least one kind of math: scoring. Rodney could hold dozens of figures in his head, for each of his competitors - artistic, technical, combined. He knew their scoring bests, worsts, and averages from previous competitions. He knew what they had in previous rounds. He knew what they needed to break records, to get medals. And he knew what he needed. Rodney was pretty quick off the mark with math. John was even faster. The wait was probably killing him.

Rodney hovered just out of sight of the cameras, which were aimed right at John where he was sitting between O’Neill and Teyla, who was there as his support.

Then a voice began to echo over the PA, and the scores were announced, first in French - which Rodney and John were both fluent in - then the local language, then English.

John was already looping O’Neill into a one-arm hug by the time the scores were in English, and then Teyla was hugging him as well.

That was it. Those were the scores to beat.

Finally the cameras drew away so John could head into the locker room, change out of his skates and costume, and Rodney fell into step beside him.

“That was beautiful,” Rodney said quietly. “You looked amazing.”

John smiled at him. “It was for you.”

“I know. Thank you.” Rodney reached out, squeezed John’s shoulder, and then lingered just outside the locker room door. Even though pretty much all of the other skaters knew they were dating, there were cameras and news crews everywhere, and both of them cared enough about their careers to be circumspect.

Rodney could wait for John to do his cool-down stretches and change. He respected the post-skate ritual, not just how important it was for his body but his mind. Even though Rodney didn’t subscribe to silly superstitions like a lot of athletes did (they had some disgusting traditions, like wearing the same underwear through the entirety of the Games), Rodney did appreciate the benefits of routine. The human mind appreciated predictability and patterns. A great way to manage stress was to manage one’s body and time as regularly as possible. John wasn’t done competing for the day, and he needed to take care of himself.

Rodney kept an ear out for the next skater, heard KD Lang’s Hallelujah spill over the speakers and rolled his eyes. Ever since the ISU had come out with the rule allowing music with lyrics, everyone had skated to that song at least once. He and Jeannie had fought about it, because he refused to be a cliché and she loved that song and loved KD Lang’s version.

Jeannie.

Rodney shook his head to clear it, closed his eyes.

He had to keep an ear out for those scores, but as soon as he heard a collective _ooh!_ from the audience he knew John was fine. Rodney had heard that sound before, but never for himself. That was the sound the audience made when someone fell.

John emerged just after the poor skater’s lame scores were announced, wearing a Team USA track suit, and then he and Rodney started back toward the stands where other members of Team USA were sitting.

“Are you feeling all right?” John asked. “Weir said you were feeling tired after your skate. Which was phenomenal, by the way. Congratulations. Another gold. You and Jeannie are really killing it.”

Rodney glanced at him. “So no one told you?”

John slowed. “Told me what?”

“That Jeannie and I are done,” Rodney said. “Yesterday was our last competition. Our last medal.”

John halted, turned to face Rodney fully. “What? Why? Did you get hurt?”

Rodney shook his head.

John stepped closer, lowered his voice. “Rodney? Are you okay?”

Rodney said, “Jeannie’s marrying Kaleb, and they’re going to have a baby.”

“Oh. That’s - you guys did a quad throw. And a death spiral. How long has she known?”

“Long enough to tell Elizabeth and not me.” Rodney scrubbed a hand over his face, frustration itching hotly beneath his skin. “In retrospect, it makes a lot of sense, how Elizabeth altered her diet and some of our training regimen.”

John tugged Rodney into a little side alcove below the bleachers where they could have some privacy and were out of everyone else’s way. “So Jeannie says she’s done skating?”

“She didn’t say that exactly, but - a baby. Six months no training just by being pregnant. And then she’ll be getting married and she’ll be Kaleb Miller’s little wife and she’ll be sleepless because babies are sleep thieves and -” Rodney was losing it, knew he was being irrational.

John studied him, wet his lips. “You’re really upset. Don’t do anything rash.”

Rodney hunched his shoulders, guilt curling low in his gut.

“Anything more rash,” John amended, because he knew Rodney too well. “Give yourself some time. You and Jeannie both. You guys got _gold._ You -”

Rodney sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. I know. I’m being crazy. I just - she didn’t tell me first. Didn’t tell Mom and Dad either, obviously. She told Elizabeth.”

John sighed and reached out, tugged Rodney into his arms. Rodney burrowed into his embrace, feeling silly and embarrassed. He’d definitely overreacted to Jeannie. He ought to find her and apologize.

“Yeah, you should,” John said.

Rodney hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud.

“Now come on,” John said. “We need to go scope out the competition.”

He started to straighten up, but Rodney caught his shoulders. “First, I need to say thank you.”

“For?”

“For listening to me. Not yelling at me. And for skating for me.”

John’s smile in response was soft, sweet, one only Rodney got to see. “You’re welcome. You’re worth it.” He leaned closer and whispered what he’d already said out there on the ice. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Rodney whispered back, leaned up, and kissed him.

It was sweet but too brief. John pulled back, checked around the corner of the alcove, and then he and Rodney headed up to sit with Team USA.

Teyla was already there, and she made space for John and Rodney to sit between her and Ronon.

Ronon reached out, clapped John on the back, and then they were watching a slender, willowy, pretty boy from Russia do his best to topple John’s score.

He failed.

Rodney could see every misstep, every wrong angle, every flaw, winced whenever someone fell or came out of a jump two-footed.

John was tense beside him, likely cataloguing every element, scoring it in his head, comparing it to the judges’ scores after each skate. Tension mounted on the bleachers around them as each score came up, and each score failed to reach John’s own.

After the end of the short program, John was solidly in the lead, which meant going into the free skate he’d get to go last, let everyone else stack up against him. Luckily there was a break between the first and second halves of the competition so the skaters could eat, rest, and change into their new costumes.

Teyla and Ronon hustled John and Rodney out of the stands and into the back so as to avoid the press and the regular fans so they could all get food. Now that Rodney was done competing he was free to deviate from his training diet, but he wasn’t about to let himself go wholesale. The women’s skating was tomorrow, and Team USA Hockey wasn’t slated to compete till tomorrow either, so Teyla, John, and Ronon were all eating meals specially prepared by their team dietitians.

John eyed Rodney’s lunch longingly more than once as they sat at a table in the back like a bunch of overgrown elementary schoolers with their little lunch boxes.

“That looks really good,” John said, nodding at Rodney’s little chocolate pudding cup.

Rodney looped a protective arm around his lunch. “No. You still have to compete.”

“But -”

“And have Coach O’Neill kill me? No.”

John pouted impressively.

Rodney leaned in and kissed him and, while John’s eyes were closed, tucked his pudding cup back into his lunchbox and out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind.

After lunch, O’Neill summoned John back to the practice room, likely for a pep talk and some last-minute advice.

Rodney headed back out to the stands with Teyla and Ronon toward the Team USA spot. They were halfway into the bleachers when half of the USA Hockey Team surrounded them.

“What’s going on?” Rodney asked.

“Check your phone,” Markham said. He was the giant goalie.

Rodney had turned his phone on silent and taken the vibrate off so he wouldn’t be distracted during John’s performance or during his time with John. He fished it out of his pocket and saw that he’d missed a dozen calls from Jeannie, two dozen calls from Coach Weir, and about a hundred text messages from the both of them. Coach Weir’s were all _Are you all right?_ and _Rodney?_ Jeannie’s were confusing, a mixture of fury and concern, _How could you be so careless?_ and _Don’t listen to them!_ and eventually devolved into just _Mer? Mer? Mer?_

Rodney wasn’t sure he could speak to his sister yet, so he called Coach Weir.

She picked up halfway through the first ring.

“Rodney, are you still at the figure skating rink?”

“Yes,” he said. “I just had lunch. What’s wrong? Why all the fuss?”

“Did you not listen to any of the voicemails I left you?”

“No, I checked the text messages, and it seemed urgent, so I called. What’s going on?”

Teyla held out her phone for him to see.

There on the screen, in full color, was a picture of John kissing him. It was recent - John was wearing his Team USA track suit, Rodney was wearing the clothes he was wearing right now.

From earlier, after John’s short program. When John had been comforting him.

“Oh,” Rodney said in a small voice, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.

“You know?” Weir asked.

“Teyla just showed me. Someone took a picture of me and John. I - I thought we were alone, we were tucked away. I’m sorry.” Rodney swallowed hard.

“I’m not mad at you,” Weir said gently. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know if John knows. What is it? Extortion? Someone wants hush money?” Rodney scrubbed a hand over his face.

Teyla squeezed his shoulder gently.

“No amount of money in the world will hush this up,” Weir said. “It’s all over the internet.”

“What are people saying?” Rodney reached for Teyla’s phone, but she shut it off, pocketed it with a sharp shake of her head.

“Don’t look at the actual comments,” Weir said, “but it’s about how you’d expect.”

Rodney’s heart skipped a beat. “John. He’s back in the locker room with O’Neill.”

“Jack knows - he found out at the same time as I did. He’s got half of the hockey team back there keeping an eye out on things. Jack won’t tell John till after he skates.”

Dammit. This was all Rodney’s fault. He’d been totally thoughtless and selfish, needing comfort when John was the one whose career was on the line, John still had to compete. If he’d just waited or insisted they go somewhere more private or -

Ronon nudged him, held up his phone. On it was a slightly blurry candid photo of John sitting on a practice mat, stretching out, smiling up at O’Neill. So he didn’t know.

Ronon flashed Rodney a thumbs up, and Rodney nodded, offered a shaky but grateful smile.

“I’m working with the PR people to get this handled as smoothly as possible,” Weir said.

“Thank you,” Rodney said automatically.

“You should call Jeannie,” Weir said. “Take care, Rodney. I’m so sorry.” She ended the call.

Rodney allowed Ronon and Teyla and the rest of the hockey team to herd him back to the bleachers. He sank down on a bench, Ronon and Teyla tight in on either side of him, and unlocked his phone. He opened up a web browser, but Teyla put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” she said.

Rodney nodded, thumbed to the call screen, dialed Jeannie. She was still first on his favorites list, always had been, though John had supplanted Weir in the number two spot.

Jeannie was family.

“Mer,” she said, answering immediately.

Rodney said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I promise I’ll spoil my niece or nephew.”

“I knew you needed time to get over it,” Jeannie said. “Are you all right?”

“I haven’t read any of the comments, I just saw the picture. John doesn’t know, and we need to keep it that way, but when he gets out on the ice, people are going to - they’ll throw him off his game - he’s in first place right now -” Rodney cut himself off. He said, softly and horrified, “Jeannie, I’ve completely screwed up.”

“We’re here for you,” Jeannie said. “Me and Weir and everyone else who knows, okay? We won’t let anyone hurt you or John.”

“Maybe not physically,” Rodney said. “This is all my fault.” He covered his face with one hand, swallowed down a hysterical sob. “Jeannie -”

“Meredith, keep it together for John. If he sees you upset, he’ll know something’s wrong.”

Rodney nodded even though she couldn’t see. “You’re right.”

“You’re my brother, Mer, and John’s as good as my brother-in-law. I love you both, even if you can be idiots. We’ve got your back. Now buck up and smile.”

“How do you know I’m not smiling?” Rodney protested, and then he looked up and saw Jeannie was standing at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at him.

She ended the call and tucked her phone away. Kaleb was beside her, and the rest of the Canadian hockey team was behind them.

The American athletes made way for their northern neighbors. Teyla scooted aside obligingly so Jeannie and Kaleb could sit beside Rodney.

Rodney leaned around Jeannie, offered a hand to Kaleb. “Congratulations,” he said. “And even though it doesn’t really matter, you have my blessing. Your proposal better have been grand and romantic.”

Kaleb shook his hand. “Thanks. And I think it was. Jeannie?”

Jeannie curled her fingers through Rodney’s, squeezed briefly. “It was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as John’s skate for you.”

Rodney swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “Thank you.”

“Not just us,” Jeannie said. “Look.” She pointed, and Rodney saw, across the rink, Cam’n’Sam, Biro and Zelenka, Kusanagi and Yuy, Grodin and Mal Doran. Mal Doran saw him and waved, beaming and bright, and she pointed toward the other end of the stadium, and Rodney realized - it wasn’t just ice skaters in the crowd. It was hockey players and snowboarders and American, Czech, Japanese, and British athletes who weren’t competing right then. They were filling the stands, and they were watching, and they were waiting.

To drown out any of John’s detractors, Rodney realized.

The stands filled slowly as people returned from lunch, and then all of the competitors stepped out onto the ice to warm up, practicing jumps and turns and spins.

Rodney heard it, the angry roar of disapproval and anger when John first stepped onto the ice, once again sleek and beautiful in black with silver accents, but then the stadium burst into cheers and screaming, and John lifted his head, startled. He smiled, pleased, did a little lap and a wave, and then his smile dissolved as he mentally went into the place he needed to be to focus, to prepare.

Once warmups were done, all of the skaters departed the ice, and the zamboni did a brief run, and it was time for competition to begin once more.

If he’d thought waiting for John’s scores after his first skate was brutal, waiting to get through a dozen long programs before John even skated was worse.

Rodney had turned his phone all the way off, not wanting any distractions, trusting that if something really important came up that Jeannie would get a call as well.

Everyone knew John’s score was the one to beat, and everyone was bringing their top game. Rodney had seen beautiful skating before. What he was seeing today was - well, one of the reasons he competed. He didn’t just enjoy being the best, he enjoyed being surrounded by the best. For most spectators, these skate routines were two to four minutes of prettiness and tricks. Rodney understood that, however subpar some of the competitors might be, every single performance represented the work of a lifetime.

If Rodney was going to give it his all, he expected those he competed with to do the same. Jeannie did it. John did it.

Jeannie was murmuring to Kaleb about each skater’s performance, about their style and technique, how well they executed each element, the relative difficulty of each technique and the point values. She also had very strong opinions about the artistic execution of each piece. Costume choice, song choice, choreography choice, all of those factored in.

Rodney was a damn good technical skater, he knew that. Jeannie was their heart and soul. She was the one who worked closely with the choreographer to give their stories life. Where a lot of pairs worked the romance angle, Rodney and Jeannie always told a story about love and loyalty, about determination, about fighting and winning. And it was because Jeannie was so damn good at telling a story.

In four years, Kaleb had learned some about the fine details of figure skating. Rodney honestly suspected that for all Kaleb was missing most of his real teeth and had suffered at least one concussion, he was smarter than he let on, that he knew more about figure skating than Jeannie thought he did, but he enjoyed listening to her, and in that moment Rodney was fiercely glad Jeannie had him, because Rodney had never been that for her.

Ronon’s phone, much to Ronon’s dismay, had become the central hub for all of the figure skaters who were weighing in on each performance, so he held his phone out for Rodney to see while Cam, Sam, Gardner, Kusanagi, Zelenka, and Grodin shared their opinions, projected scores, and predictions for performances. Rumor had it that Kavanagh, one of John’s teammates on Team USA, was going to shoot for a quad axel, and Grodin and Zelenka were gleefully predicting that he’d fail (he did, brutally, and Rodney actually felt kind of bad for him).

Rodney’s mind spun with numbers the entire time, watching people’s scores, watching the rankings shuffle and shuffle again with each performance.

John’s biggest competitor, the one who’d come closest to snatching gold from him last Olympics and who’d managed to edge him out at Worlds last year was another American, Michael Kenmore. His coach, a man who went by just _Todd,_ was having an intense conversation with him as the announcer recited his name and credentials. Michael nodded, nodded again, and he and Todd headbutted each other the way NFL players did, and then Michael was out in the middle of the rink, waving and posing for the crowd.

Michael had always tended to lurk around the edges of Team America, watching but never joining in with who Rodney jokingly called _The Cool Kids,_ Sam and Cam, John and Teyla and Ronon, and some of the others in their orbit.

He was a talented skater, no doubt about that, but he had this _thing_ about Teyla and John, and he made Rodney uncomfortable. Teyla tried to be nice to him, but he was always lingering in the corner and staring.

Maybe it was just Rodney, but Michael carried that uncomfortable intensity into the ice with him.

His costume was ghostly white-gray-silver. He assumed his starting pose, chin lifted high, and then the music started. Slow, swelling violins that Michael came alive to, glided to. He hit his first jump just as the music switched to a slow, steady, almost techno beat with a muted brass accent. As the beat picked up with more layers and more accents, Michael picked up speed and aggression, hit his second jump when the strings came back in, hit his third jump when the weird, off-rhythm bell accents tapered in.

The music built and built and built to a shimmering crescendo that plunged into a stark piano line that Michael finished to, a series of frenzied-fast but perfectly controlled spins.

It was good. Michael had nailed each element. His lines and edges were clean, his extensions were long and strong, his footwork was crisp, and his first jump had been a quad Salchow. The audience went wild when he finished, half of them on their feet.

Ronon’s phone was buzzing like a bee with a flood of incoming text messages. Michael had been right behind John coming out of the short program.

He was grinning when he took his bows, something shark-like in his expression.

He knew he was getting a good score. If he got a good enough score, John wouldn’t be able to catch up to him.

Flowers rained down on the ice, and eager kids on skates collected them for Michael, who skated over to where his coach was waiting to pull him into one of those aggressive-masculine hugs, and then it was off to the kiss-and-cry while they waited for his scores.

Which were massive. So damn massive.

Unless John got a nearly flawless score, he was going to have to settle for silver.

Rodney was literally on the edge of his seat when the announcer started introducing John: country, name, pedigree of previous medals and titles.

John was at the wall, having final words with O’Neill. He nodded, and O’Neill clapped him on the shoulder, and then he was doing his first lap to warm up the crowd.

All around Rodney, the Americans surged to their feet, screaming and hollering, and he almost went deaf from the noise. He saw the other half of the American hockey team standing along the wall, shouting across the ice, and he saw all his friends and colleagues screaming for John as well, but underneath it all Rodney could hear the stirrings of discontent, anger.

Hatred.

Rodney sent his voice up as well, desperate to drown out the detractors, because John needed all the love and support he could get to keep his head in the game.

John waved, smiling, and then skated to the center of the rink to take his first pose.

Soft electric guitar notes spilled over the arena, the riff familiar, but once again Rodney couldn’t quite place it.

John came to life, sweeping across the ice in a beautiful circle, and was in the air for his first jumping pass as a man began to sing.

 _Just before our love got lost you said_  
_I am as constant as a northern star and I said_ __  
_Constantly in the darkness_ __  
_Where’s that at?_ _  
_ _If you want me I’ll be in the bar_

A Case of You.

Rodney’s heart pounded. Dark Waltz was the song they’d first skated to together.

A Case of You was the song that had been playing the first time they’d made love.

John was in the air again on _Oh Canada,_ and Rodney’s heart skipped a beat.

“Is he allowed to do that?” Kaleb asked. “Being American and all.”

His comment was nearly drowned out in the deafening screams that erupted around them.

Jeannie’s grip on Rodney’s hand was almost crushing. “Was that what I thought it was?”

“I don’t know,” Rodney said. “I think so. I mean, maybe? It’s possible, isn’t it?”

A quadruple Axel.

“Theoretical,” Jeannie breathed, and Teyla was clutching Rodney’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, wide-eyed.

John soared through the rest of his performance, moving across the ice like he was flying, a man on wings. His extensions were poetry, and his final spin combination was breathtaking, complex and effortless all at once.

If half of the stadium had been on its feet for Michael, at least two thirds of them gave John a standing ovation. He was grinning, ebullient, as he took his bows.

Rodney was on his feet, working his way down the bleachers and toward the kiss-and-cry area. Ronon, Teyla, Jeannie, and Kaleb were on his heels. He could see some people who remained sitting stubbornly, arms crossed, expressions mulish and angry. Someone shouted something at him as he headed for the barrier that led to the athlete section of the rink, but he didn’t listen.

He had to get to John.

John’s chosen song rang in his mind.

 _Go to him_ __  
_Stay with him if you can_ _  
_ _But be prepared to bleed_

John was sitting in the kiss-and-cry area beside O’Neill when Rodney and the others arrived.

O’Neill leaned in, speaking low, urgently. The smile slid off of John’s face, and O’Neill held his phone out for John to see.

John stared at O’Neill’s phone for a long time. Rodney could only guess what he was looking at, the stolen photo of them or maybe hateful comments about them. He skidded to a halt.

And then cameras were in John’s face, and he was trying to smile, and Rodney hung back, because he didn’t want to make things worse for John than they already were.

John lifted his head, and he saw Rodney.

Rodney bit his lip, heart pounding once more. Was John angry? Would he blame Rodney? Were they over?

Before Rodney could speak, scores started pouring over the PA system in French. He closed his eyes, listening as first the technical, then the artist scores were read.

Numbers tumbled over each other in his mind, John’s score coming out of the short program, his scores now -

Someone crashed into him.

He opened his eyes.

John caught him in a crushing embrace, squeezing the breath out of him, and then he leaned in, kissed Rodney on the mouth, brief but firm.

Rodney barely had a chance to kiss him back, it was all so fast.

Then there was a pause, and once again the announcer was speaking in French.

It was official. First ratified quadruple Axel.

Teyla, Ronon, Kaleb, and Jeannie pounced on them, almost squeezing the life out of them. O’Neill pounded John so hard on the back he nearly fell over.

John looked shocked, dazed, and then he was grinning and kissing Rodney again.

The moment was shattered by angry shouting.

“Time to go,” Ronon said, and he grabbed Rodney and John, swept them back toward the locker room.

It was chillingly quiet when they got in there, the other competitors staring at John. Most of the American and Canadian hockey teams were in there, looming large and threatening, warning.

It was Devereux from France who offered John a hand. “Quadruple Axel. Congratulations.”

John shook his hand, wary.

Kravchenko spat something in Russian. Rodney didn’t need to speak Russian to understand what he meant. John flinched. Rodney stepped in front of him instinctively, but then three massive hockey players - two Canadian, one American - rounded on Kravchenko. Ronon nudged John toward his locker, told him to grab all his gear, they’d find somewhere else for him to change.

John ended up changing in the practice room, which had cleared out at a single command from Ronon, and once he was back in his tracksuit, Rodney stuck to his side while Ronon and Kaleb led the way to the award stage.

John for the gold. Michael for the silver. Balinsky from Poland for the bronze.

John and Michael sang the American national anthem proudly, as did Teyla (she had a lovely voice) and Ronon.

After the medals were given, it was time for pictures.

There was an awkward moment when Balinsky started to lean in to John, hesitated, nearly fell off his podium, and Michael leaned in too quickly, nearly knocked John off his podium, and officials and security scrambled to keep all of them upright.

The photographer asked, in broken English, for them to try again.

Michael said, bitterly and loud enough to be heard over the din, “What does a picture of us matter? All anyone cares about are pictures of Sheppard and his boyfriend.”

John snapped, “Rodney’s a gold-medal Olympian too.”

Michael threw his hands up in exasperation and hopped off the podium, pushed past the crowd around them and stomped away.

Balinsky had regained his balance, and he leaned toward John again, beaming.

In the picture, John was looking somewhere out of frame, Michael’s absence was glaring, and Balinsky’s grin and peace sign were surprisingly cheery.

As soon as the picture was done, officials swarmed John to take him to the press area for questions, but O’Neill was there, shooing them away and saying John had to rest.

The combined forces of the American and Canadian hockey teams escorted John, Rodney, Jeannie, and Kaleb back to the team shuttle and rode with them all the way back to the Olympic village, and then the four of them were ensconced in Rodney and Jeannie’s room with strict instructions not to leave unless directed to by their coaching staff or team directors.

They were to contact Chuck if they needed anything - Chuck was done with all his races - and other than that, they were supposed to remain on lockdown.

The first thing Rodney did was turn his phone back on and clear all the ‘unread’ text messages from earlier, because he’d been included on the massive group text that had been going during the free skate competition.

“Don’t read any of the comments,” John said softly. He was sitting beside Rodney on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, looking exhausted. He still had a bit of glitter on his face from his performance.

Rodney reached out, smoothed a thumb over John’s cheekbone. “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad,” Kaleb said. “In addition to the usual comments about gay people, there have been some calls to have you and John stripped of all your medals, and pretty nasty insinuations about the fact that you and Jeannie skate together.”

Rodney straightened up, fury pounding through him. “What? By who?” He was on his feet and headed for the door before John and Jeannie caught him, tugged him back to the bed.

“Remember what Coach said.” Jeannie hung onto his arm. “We can’t go out there.”

“I refuse to be held prisoner by other people’s hatred,” Rodney snarled.

John smoothed a hand up and down his back. “Your safety comes first. Stay here. Let the administrators and officials handle things. There’s no need to make things more difficult for them by us making a scene.”

“A scene?” Rodney demanded. “I want to damn well make a scene! We have the exhibition gala coming up. We could do like Rudy Galindo, with Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Giant rainbow flags. To hell with them all.”

Jeannie pressed her lips into a thin line. “What is it you always say about being a cliché? You and I have practiced our exhibition routine for months.”

“Or,” John said, “we could do this.” He unlocked his phone, fired up a video, turned it so Rodney could watch full screen.

“Is - are you skating with Cam Mitchell?”

“Cam does have pairs experience,” John said. “And I figured if you and I skated together, you’d be the lifter and I’d be the flyer, so we roughed something out. Me and Cam and O’Neill. Think you could learn it?”

Rodney snatched the phone from him, peered closer at the video. “Oh please, anything Cam Mitchell can do I can do better, hence me and Jeannie getting the gold and him and Sam getting the silver.”

“But can you learn it in time for the exhibition gala?” Kaleb asked.

Rodney said, “Yes.”

*

Rodney knew the proposed changes to the exhibition skate program for the distraction they were intended to be, but he didn’t care, because now he had focus and purpose. He and John spent every minute they could on the ice rehearsing - but they weren’t the only ones who were rearranging things as well. Jeannie had decided against skating solo. She and Kaleb held a massive press conference to announce her temporary retirement and their plans to have a family. It hadn’t overshadowed the news of John and Rodney’s outing, but it had distracted a lot of people long enough for Rodney and John to get over to the rink unnoticed.

Cam was skating solo to cover John’s solo spot - Michael was outright refusing to share the ice with John - and Sam was skating with Teyla in their own pair skate, which they’d apparently been working on for a while.

Day in, day out, Rodney and John trained together, with O’Neill and Weir shouting at them from the sidelines about form, technique, grace. Rodney was back to eating carefully managed meals with John (as opposed to Jeannie, who had taken to _eating for two_ with glee). John and Rodney caught coverage of their friends’ competitions on their phones during breaks or in the evenings while they ate together. Rodney preferred watching television together, because it meant he and John could huddle together on Rodney’s bed, pressed together and sharing warmth, John shouting at the TV for Ronon to knock a guy’s face off while Rodney, logged into one of his sockpuppet accounts, was all over social media defending himself and John ferociously.

Jeannie received multiple text messages from the McKay family after her and Kaleb’s big press conference: congratulations from their father, a single smiley emoticon from their mother, and a request from their grandmother that the baby be named after her if a girl or at least have some kind of family name if a boy.

“You know,” John had said while Jeannie read the text messages aloud over dinner, “some people use McKay as a first name.”

Kaleb actually looked thoughtful of the notion, but Rodney said flatly, “No.”

Rodney’s mother didn’t communicate to him at all about his coming-out. Grandma McKay managed to send him a selfie of her flashing him a thumbs up and the approbation that his boy seemed lovely. Rodney’s father’s message was half supportive (you’re still our son) and half terrible (why are people surprised when male figure skaters are gay anyway? _I’m bi, Dad)_ but all in all what Rodney had come to expect from him.

John’s family was entirely different. He’d received a call from his younger brother, Dave, but when John answered the phone, it was actually his father.

“John.” Patrick Sheppard cleared his throat impatiently, like self-important men did.

“Father,” John said, cautiously polite. He and Rodney were sitting on Rodney’s bed after another long day of rehearsals.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you need me to send you some private security? The other night I had dinner with a couple of fellows from NATO and the UN. I’m sure they could spare a few troops -”

“That’s not necessary,” John said, eyes wide. “I’m fine. Rodney’s fine. We have at least half a hockey team looking out for us at any given time.”

“If you’re sure -”

“I am. But - thanks.”

“All right. David wishes to speak to you.”

There was a pause, a muffled exchange, and then Dave said,

“So, you and Rodney McKay.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. More girls for me.”

“I’ll be sure to mention you’re single.”

“And in my freshman year at Harvard.”

“That too.”

“Congrats on the gold, Johnny.”

“Thanks, Davey.”

And Rodney had thought his family was strange.

Day in, day out, John and Rodney trained, and at the end of the day they fell asleep curled up together in Rodney’s bed. Rodney held John close and tried to burn away the memories of all the horrible comments he’d read and combated.

“I promise,” Rodney whispered into the darkness while John slept, “I’ll make this right for you.”

*

At first, Rodney had been dubious of John’s song choice, because it wasn’t very traditional at all, had a heavy synthesized bass, was almost dub-step. When Rodney had voiced his skepticism, John had reminded him of the time he’d skated to Lady Gaga’s Poker Face for a Worlds exhibition skate, and Rodney gave in.

“Besides,” John had said, “you’re also a scientist. It’s kind of perfect, don’t you think?”

“I am in love with you, though,” Rodney had pointed out, and then he’d blushed.

John had pinned him to the wall and kissed him breathless for that.

Rodney’s chest was tight again as he and John stood at the edge of the rink, and he had to force himself to take several deep breaths to get himself to relax.

When the announcer read off their names and their title records, the crowd cheered, and that was good. Cam had skated before them, gotten them warmed up with a very charming number to Sweet Home Alabama. Earlier in the evening, Sam and Teyla had taken the ice together for a sassy performance to P!nk’s U + Ur Hand that was all aggressive flips, beautiful pair spins, and some fantastic side-by-side jumps.

However much the crowd had enjoyed the two of them skating together, Rodney was under no illusion that he and John would be received nearly as well.

But he and John stepped onto the ice amidst the cheers, did a lap, waved, and hit their first marks.

The music started, the heavy grinding bass. John and Rodney were at opposite ends of the rink, moving in synchronization, drawing closer and closer together in a series tightening loops that, unbeknownst to the audience, mimicked magnetic fields.

 _I'm not in love, I'm not in love_  
_And there will be no future tense for us_  
_I cannot lie, I know it isn't right to want you  
_ _Most of the time I stop myself from trying to touch you_

They met in the center of the rink, yearned toward each other in sweeping extensions but didn’t quite touch.

They broke apart, picked up speed, and hit their jumps at the same time as the chorus exploded.

 _I’m magnetized, I’m magnetized_ _  
_ _I’m magnetized, I’m magnetized by you_

The audience cheered.

For the second verse Rodney and John were close together, side by side, pushing and pulling, one of them extending, the other supporting, alternating, challenging each other, complementing each other.

At the second chorus, Rodney launched John into the air on a throw, caught him, sailed across the ice in a smooth lift.

The audience roared.

For the bridge, Rodney and John chased each other across the ice, reaching but never quite touching - teasing, daring, flirting.

 _I’m not in love,_ Shirley Manson sang.

So Rodney and John were entwined with each other in a series of partner spins, each more dizzying and daring than the last.

They launched into side-by-side jumps for the final chorus, sweeping across the ice, criss-crossing and turning, sweeping apart and then coming back together for the final lines of the song.

 _There’s nothing I can do_ _  
_ _It’s all a fantasy_

They ended facing each other, reaching out, not quite touching.

Rodney gazed into John’s eyes, breathing hard. They’d done it. They’d skated together.

The lights came up, and the audience was on its feet, cheering. Rodney was sure people had walked out, that people were booing and hissing beneath it all, but he couldn’t see them or hear them, so he didn’t care, because he was on the ice with John.

John grabbed his hand and raised it high, swept them down for a bow, and then he took off for a lap around the ice, raising Rodney’s hand high again.

When they reached the end of their lap, Jeannie and Kaleb and Teyla and Cam and Sam were all waiting for them. Jeannie caught Rodney in a crushing hug, and Cam nearly knocked John over he pounded on John’s back so hard. Rodney had no idea what any of them were saying, the audience was so loud, but he didn’t care. He and John had done it, and it had been technically flawless and beautiful.

Then Kaleb yanked Rodney into a rib-cracking hug, leaned down, and shouted, “Will you be my best man?”

Rodney shouted back, “Yes!”

*

Rodney didn’t hold with a lot of stupid traditions, but for Jeannie’s sake, he kept a civil tongue in his head. And, well, when she appeared at the end of the aisle on Dad’s arm, dressed in a beautiful white gown, she looked amazing. Radiant. A lot of people said she was “glowing” now that she was pregnant, but she looked so damn happy, and Rodney was fiercely glad for her.

Mom was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t a surprise, given how she barely left the house (or her margaritas) for anyone. Dad looked like he was ready to cry, but that wasn’t a surprise either.

Across the aisle, Teyla and Sam looked splendid in their bridesmaid dresses.

Rodney glanced up at Kaleb. He always looked ready to cry, but he looked incredibly happy.

John stood beside Rodney, unfairly handsome and sleek in his groomsman tux. He was watching Jeannie’s approach and smiling, his expression soft, just like it had been the night before at the rehearsal dinner..

_(We can get married in Canada, you know._

_I know._

_If you wanted to - I mean, I think marriage is a silly institution, but for you I would -_

_I know. Let Jeannie and Kaleb have their moment. We can have ours later._

_Okay. I - I love you._

_I know. I love you too.)_

Finally Jeannie reached the top of the aisle. Dad started crying when it came time to give her away. John and Rodney moved forward as one with Kaleb, Rodney to help pry Jeannie loose as inconspicuously as possible, John to pat Dad’s back and lead him back to his seat.

Then the priest cleared his throat, and it was time.

This very well could have been the wedding of the year, what with almost the entirety of the American and Canadian Winter Olympic teams present, some as bridesmaids and groomsmen, others in the audience.

Ronon was sitting beside Cam Mitchell, and when he caught Rodney’s eye, he flashed him a _hang loose_ sign.

Michael Kenmore was noticeably absent, but Coach Weir and Coach O’Neill were both present (Coach O’Neill with his boyfriend no one had had any clue about, former Olympic men’s solo skater Daniel Jackson).

Jeannie and Kaleb had had their own share of struggles getting to this place, some people decrying Jeannie for getting pregnant out of wedlock and being a poor role model for young girls, other people decrying Jeannie for choosing to give up her skating career to be a mother (it had, admittedly, been hard for Rodney to accept that as well, but now he had first rights to babysit his little niece after she arrived, and he had plans to get her into skates and on the ice as soon as possible).

Rodney and John were still facing down the fallout from some opportunistic reporter (Emmett Bregman, an American) having outed them against their will, and it had been hard, but they had weathered the worst of it, and they would be all right. Either the ISU - and the rest of the world - would accept them, or they wouldn’t. Whether they did was irrelevant in the end, because Rodney had John, and he was worth all the medals and awards in the world (and Rodney already had plenty besides).

“Dearly beloved,” the priest said, and Rodney reached out, curled his fingers through John’s.

John squeezed his hand gently, smiled, and Rodney hung on until the very end, whispered along with Jeannie,

_I do._

**Author's Note:**

> to all the professional and amateur figure skaters who ship McShep and might be reading this fic  
> WE APOLOGIZE (because we really don't know much about figure skating at all)
> 
> Song credits:  
> John's solo skate SP: Dark Waltz by Hayley Westenra  
> John's solo skate LP: A Case of You (cover) by Rufus Wainwright  
> Pair skate: Magnetized by Garbage
> 
> Thanks to SherlockianSyndromes for getting this over the finish line because it was going nowhere fast and to Brumeier for reminding me that there are more antagonists in SGA than Todd and Kolya.
> 
> Title from the song Magnetized by Garbage


End file.
